Creation of Gods
by mimi 007
Summary: A six-year-old kid has parents with no faces. This kid is different. He doesn't know what to do with this difference, but he knows one thing - what he is looking for is not with the family he claims he do not have.
1. Left outside alone

For anyone who have read Bound to Change might notice I changed my mind. I will start on my Brooklyn. It will be third priority and will stand still for all the time it takes me to end Bound to Change, then it gets top priority. Which means I, priority-wise, have the stories lined as such; Bound to Change, Gun Education, and this one.

The idea behind this was that I saw the Brooklyn Tribute on YouTube with the song 'Left outside alone', by Lailachan. I got the idea without even really watching it, but the song and tribute is alright anyway. So, that's the story of the story, should we get on with the story? (Making sense, aren't we?)

Disclaimer: Don't own beyblade, don't own Brooklyn,don't own 'Left outside alone'.

Warning: No warnings ^^ Cheers! As always with my things, possible character-death, but... For once, haven't planned any. The rating might change, but then, it would go down a notch... But I have no pairings intended. Romance might come, but it will innocent and minimal. This story is not about love, but the lack of it.

* * *

Left outside alone

* * *

Six years

* * *

There is a house in the mountain, a house of wood. Or... It is not just a house. It is in the category between house and mansion, all made of wood. The mountain is covered in a white layer of thin, crystal snow; but a storm is on its way, and the lead-black clouds and wild winds are just right around the corner. Weird how something so black and dark will leave big piles of pure, white snow tomorrow morning, isn't it? The northern part of Norway is beautiful all year.

But something is more pure and something is more beautiful than the country itself. A little boy, sitting in the snow beside the door to the house, his hair orange and the eyes like the feather of the blue jay. He is a beauty, he really is, his body slender and features as perfect as only a small child can be... And he is about six years old. But without a coat on, he is shivering like a soaked kitten and about as wet. The snow have soaked the perfectly white clothes, making them look grayish where they have contact with the frozen water. And in the blue eyes, fear and tears lay.

"- - - -, I beg of you, let him go inside again! He'll freeze to death in the storm!" The mind of the child automatically blocks out the name of the man getting talked to. The woman's voice sounds concerned and fearful, but stubborn too. He can hear them through the doors and windows, though both are shut tight to prevent the icy breezes to wipe through the house. But they are loud, so loud that the voices reach him like a whisper in the cold air.

It is the parents of the child, the two talking. And yet, not. They aren't his parents. They are faults, imposters.

"He can just learn to behave!" the voice of the man with no name spits back in the singing language of Norway. The man sounds more than furious. "Nikoline, he cheats! You should know it, the kid has always done that!" His mom has a name. His dad don't. He allows her to have a name. But the man, on the other hand... He has no name.

Nikoline... She loves him. She loves him a lot. That's why he allows her to have a name. There is just one problem...

The six-year-old didn't love her back.

"_Why_. Can't you just _realize_. Your _son_. Is a _genius_?" Nikoline's voice is strong enough to cut through steel, but the man's determination is unbreakable. And both the little, six-year-old boy, who rightfully enough is sitting and dying in the cold, and his mother knows this. But Nikoline loves her husband as much as her child. That's the reason she won't leave, and take her child away from the man, despite that he often get angry and yell at the small boy. But don't mistake anything, though.

Cause the man loves his son too. In fact he do it a lot. But everything the child is go against his life, and his principles. And so, he is going to discipline the child into stop cheating when the kid solve the math that the man himself have trouble doing, or reads the lines of a brick-sized book without stumbling over the big words. The child is a wonder-child, a prodigy. Not only in the boring parts like reading, writing or solving mathematical problems, no. No matter what is thrown in the lap of the child, he learns it, and uses it, after getting the basics told. He plays the piano, he plays chess, he have all the constellation memorized and knows when they are visible and when they are not, he can tell you about physics and chemistry, atoms, metal, gas, acids, bases, salts, electricity, he knows everything about old Greek, Egyptian and Nordic mythologies, he knows the human brain inside out...

The list is long, and it is so long because the man, ever since he found his son was special when the kid was able to read without problems at the age of four, has thrown everything he could at the poor boy to finally find his limits. Those limits are yet to be seen. Why did the man do this? Because this man can't deal with perfection. Only imperfection is good enough to him, and it was soon after his son's fifth birthday the man lost it and changed his ways around the boy. A mixture of frustration in the realization that a six-year-old is cleverer than him and the perfection of his son got him to lie to himself about the kid. And the only way the man is able to teach the kid how not to cheat is through disciplining.

The man is denying the truth. But, luckily, he is not one to hit children. So the little boy with the white clothes and the blue eyes normally only gets snappy words from the man whenever it seems necessary. But today, the boy not only sneaked up on the loft, but in there he found the old violin the man had tried to learn to play back in the days without succeeding. And despite his short arms and the long bow, his curiosity got him to try it out, and trying it out got him to play it without problems. That's how this boy is.

But his dad is furious. "He's _no_ genius! The only way anyone can do anything in this life is by working hard for it! How else do you think I got us into this house? I worked hard! But he cheats, he finds the easiest way to do everything! I don't want a son who is a wuss and can't take care of himself, and the only way my son wont be like that is if he stops doing it the easy way and begins working!" That is what the problem with the child's perfection comes. The man with no name and no son thinks working hard is the only way you can grow up. But what if all the things you do comes easy to you? The man has found one single thing his son can't do. His son can't do sports.

That is another thing that makes the man angry. Not that his son is unable to do sports, but the attitude the boy has about it. It's hard, because the kid have never run a meter in his life. It's so hard, that the child can't see the point. Cause the man is right. You only grow in the right way by meeting hardships, and since nothing until this point has brought the child trouble or pain, he has gotten lazy. Now that he has found something he can't do, he aren't interested in overcoming it. And no matter how much his day tries to tell him that he should get on that bike or play with that ball or anything, the child refuses. Cause this kid has never done training in his life.

You may wonder how the child can't have run a meter in his life? Their house lies in the middle of nowhere in the Norwegian wilderness. The only other children the kid meets is sons and daughters of his dad's business-partners, and when the child is lucky enough to meet someone at his age, he's bored. The other kid is boring, the other kid lacks curiosity, the other kid likes running around after nothing. And the kid can't even read or write. It isn't interested in music, it thinks chess is confusing, it thinks stars is stupid, it doesn't understand physics... Basically, they doesn't fit together.

The kid is already trapped in the loneliness he will know many years onward.

But Nikoline is different from the man. "Why do you have to be so hard on him?" Nikoline is very different. "Many parents would die to get a son like this!" Her son don't consider her family, but she's different. "Tell me how it is he's cheating!" She loves him. "He can't help it!" And she thinks of her son very differently. "He can't help being good at everything, that's just who he is!" She thinks he's little Gods gift to humanity, and that he'll do something big in life.

And she might be right.

But this little gift to humanity is freezing. The wind blows even worse now, and the shivers get worse as the little boy closes his eyes and forces the tears to fall. The kid is sad. Why he is sad, he does not know. Normally, he never feels sad, or happy. He knows the feelings, but do not normally use them. But this time, where he actually does feel sad, he does not know why he feels. Maybe he, deep down, cares more for his parents than he thinks. But they are not family. They'll never be family.

The old, tall trees of the forest creak, threatening to fall under the pressure of icy blows, and the lead-black clouds finally reach the big tree-house and sends cascades of tiny crystals down to the ground. The small boy don't move an inch, and the snow makes a serious attempt of covering him from the world in the only sheets that would be just as white as his clothes. Nikoline is right. If he stays here just a little longer, he'll freeze to death.

But at the same time as he doesn't want to stay out here, his wish of not being in the house is just as big. Though for the most time having the life everyone would dream of, the boy knows they aren't his family. They won't ever be family. And he don't want to know them. And as he sits out in the cold and clings to life while more and more snow pours down on him, he disconnects his mind with his body. He locks himself up in the darkness of his mind to flee from the pain of the cold.

Normally, he hates doing it. It hurts. And confusion... He sees images, from the future. Some that he can hold on to and make sense of. Some he can't. He knows he is different, different from every human on the planet. He just doesn't know why, or how, though it is easy to realize that his visions of the future is part of it. Another part of it is, of course, his unlimited ability to learn whatever he wants to learn. The six-year-old is scared of himself and his abilities, and he has no-one he trusts enough to get the fear poured out to.

The small, fine lips are turning blue. The storm is bad. Really bad. If he would just go in to the house with the persons without faces, he could get away from the cold, but the wishes are still equally important and none of them will get him convinced to do anything. But out of the darkness, a moose suddenly appeares. They never go this close to the house, which is good since the man is one to enjoy hunting animals, but this one still continues onward, all the way up to the walls of the house, ignoring the cold to get to the little, vulnerable boy.

The boy doesn't wake from his trance-like state when it bows down and curls up around him, providing him with its own body-warmth. Animals trust him, and he assumes it is because he isn't human. At least, the six-year-old's fantasy tells him that he isn't human. What he then is, he don't know, but the animals likes what he is. And he likes the animals, and so, the thought of not being human, and not fitting in anywhere because he isn't human doesn't scare him, cause he _do _fit in. He fits with the animals. The animals accept him for what he is.

And now, an old female moose decide to keep him alive while his parents still shouts at each other, the woman crying wildly in fear of losing her only child, while the man still is too angry to see the logic of saving the kid from the cold.

In the chaos of the future the boy finally finds something that interests him, something he has been looking for ever since he let himself get embraced by the dark parts of his mind. He can't control the visions he gets, but to keep his sanity, he ignores most of them. It won't matter if he didn't, cause he doesn't have the ability to understand any of the pictures or scenes anyway. They spring past his mental eyes with the speed of light. Yet he found what he was looking for.

"Dad..." The word slips past the blue lips as the he leans closer to the big animal, the corners of his lips turning slightly upwards. He still doesn't wake up. Cause he's safe now. He has caught the image of the future that will be the light of his life forever. And the image comforts him. As if it is already here, as if it comforts him and holds it wings above him to protect him already now. The king, even having a helmet-like crown to proof its royalty.

His mental eyes keeps a hold of a mythical creature with hooves, wings, horns on its chest and a great, white mane on a head of a cat. The image is frozen, giving the boy a good look on the beast. It is a fusion of two creatures of the old, Greek mythology, the centaur and the chimera in the form of a winged lion, with the chimera as a substitute for the centaurs human body.

Despite a hostile and dangerous appearance, the child no longer fear, and the young boy falls asleep into the fur of the moose. The creature is his light. The creature is his safe. The creature will become so much more to him...

* * *

"Espen?" Nikoline's voice scares the moose. The creature stands up, causing the boy to fall into the snow. The storm is there still. You can't see anything else than snow. The boy hears Nikoline come closer, and he look up at the moose, which stands over him and look at him with confusion. There is only one thing he can do to get it away. And that is explaining to the creature it has to leave him to get away from the man and into safety.

"The man in the house is a hunter." You can't call a man dad. Not when he isn't your dad. It would be wrong. Especially when you have another Dad. "If he sees you, he'll shoot you. I hate when he does that. He's not nice. But you have to go. Do you understand?" The moose tilts its head to the right, looking at him thoughtfully. Then, it turns its gaze to the giant wooden house before slipping it back to him. "Thanks for saving me," the boy adds, and then the moose takes down its head, staring into his blue eyes for a few seconds. Then it runs off, only just out of view when Nikoline finally reaches her son. The door opens. She stands there.

"Espen?" The boy reacts to his name by looking up. Nikoline has a name. But she doesn't have a face. He doesn't allow her to have a face. She loves him, so she has a name. But she doesn't have a face. Where her face is supposed to be, darkness is. Her lips is black. So is the nose. Even the eyes. But not her brown hair. It's only the face. She has no face. He doesn't allow her to have a face. "Are you alright?"

She takes her arm around him, not caring that the storm soaks her in second. She takes him up from the ground, making him move his stiff, cold limps. She takes him inside, getting him out of the cold. She takes him to a bath, warming him up again. She takes him to the kitchen, getting his stomach full. She takes him to his bedroom, covering him in blankets. She takes him in her arms, letting him fall asleep there.

He's a lucky kid. The experience of getting trapped in the cold is a one-timer. He will never experience it again. The woman holding him love him. Everything is right. Even his dad loves him. Like some men, his dad can have a temper. Like some men, his dad has principles. But he still loves his son. Even though he don't like the perfection.

Nikoline strokes his hair, the orange strands so wet they look nearly black-red. She smiles sadly, knowing she might be supposed to call the police and tell them that her husband had thrown their kid outside in the storm. But she knows he hasn't done it on purpose, and if he do anything like that again, she will _not_ hesitate to tell. Buthe wants her son to have the best life possible, and that the man is strict to the boy might just help. Cause though she didn't want to admit it, she agreed with him. You wouldn't grow right if you didn't feel the hardships.

* * *

Seven years

* * *

Don't you love when you grow older? Espen may do a little. Birthday. He is excited... to some degree. It is like a teenager's birthday, the worst steam of joy has already blown in the previous years. But he is only six... or seven, it is now. Only a little kid. And yet, this child doesn't see joy in his birthday anymore.

All his family has assembled, and he sits with his seventeen cousins at the kids' table. The majority, meaning eleven of the kids in the seats, are male, and he is the second youngest. The boy is small of his age, and that means he is even smaller than the only one he is older than. And since he is so good at everything, most of his cousins have the same problem with him as his father. It is summer, the weather is hot and the mountain full of flowers and insects, but the summer-time is coming to an end. It's august, two weeks after his actual birthday date, and it is a Sunday. He has birthday the fourth of august, in the end of summer, when everything gets ready for the cold and dark winter.

Trying to act as if the many cousins actually interests him, Espen is a part of his own party without feeling as the center. The others ignore him. He is the little genius in the family. The others hate him. They don't have names. But they are allowed to have faces. He allows them to have faces.

The kids will stay at the table all evening. Why? Because in this house, there is nothing telling you that a kid lives there. There are no toys, no video-games, no cartoon-channels on the TV, nothing. The boy doesn't find any interest in these things. They just don't satisfy him. He feels no need to use toys – he has books. He feels no need to use video-games – he has a whole loft to explore. He don't need the cartoons – the adult movies are far more interesting and clever for him. He especially enjoys the horror-movies. The monsters aren't terrifying. He laughs at the monsters. Dad protects him. He often wakes up in the night to watch movies behind Nikoline's and the man's back.

The cousins knew this already before they came. The freakish prodigy-member of their family don't have or do fun things. One reason why they don't like to go to that home in the middle of nowhere. Another is that they are scared of him. It's not that he can everything. That's scary too, but it's not it. It's that aura he has formed around him ever since he was four. They agree with his fantasy. He is not human. What he then is, they don't know. They don't speak of it. But he is not human.

Suddenly, the birthday-boy disappears from his seat. The boy may not run around, but he is still an outdoor-person. So he sneaks up to the adults' table, trying to get Nikoline's attention. Only she and the man doesn't have faces. His aunts and uncles and grandparents have faces. And they have names. But they still aren't family. They are strangers.

"Where do your little wonder go to school?" one of the people at the adult-table asks pleasantly. A little too pleasantly. He is jealous. Do he want a boy like that too? For some reason, the little boy thinks the man is wrong. He don't want a boy like this too. "You live pretty far away from everything, so I'm just curious. Is there even a school hard enough for him so far out in the wilderness?" He tries to hide his jealousy. He doesn't succeed. He is no longer allowed to have a name.

"We have a private teacher for him." Nikoline is the one to answer first. She is proud of her little boy. He's so good at everything. She don't ever want to lose him. "We have found the teacher specially for him, to keep his abilities up. We wouldn't want him to lose interest, though his curiosity keeps that away. But people changes, and it is pretty normal for a boy in his age to have such an interest in the things around him, but you don't see teenagers seek out things like he does, do you? I just hope the teenage-years doesn't get an effect on him. I want him just as he is now."

"He isn't interested in anything," the man says. He is angry. He wants his son to change. He thinks opposite of his wife. "Only as long as he can find something that doesn't take too much of his effort, he wants to learn. If something is difficult, he just lays back on his lawn and stare up in the sky a little more and ignores you. There is something wrong with that kid." There has been a special add, only reserved for this man. Sometimes, he doesn't have a voice. Sometimes, the boy doesn't allow him to have a voice.

"Well, he is unbelievably clever for his age, so it wouldn't surprise anyone..." The person speaking, one of the boys aunts, stops as she sees him standing there. For a second, she wonders if he has been there for a long time, but decides it might not be important. So she turns her gaze to Nikoline, whom is the one the kid is staring at.

"What is it, Espen?" Nikoline asks, and though he can't see her face, he can hear her smile in her voice. He just watches her a little, the black hole in her body where the eyes are, before taking a breath to get air to say his words.

"May I go outside?" he asked, he wide, blue eyes filled with hope as he watches the mother that isn't his. She seems to go through the options, deciding between giving him go outside and play, or denying him this and keep him near her, so that she can make sure he is safe. Finally she decides. And she decides good. This is the reason he lets her have a name. She is always kind. She's not his mother, as she claims, but she is kind. She deserves her name.

As she nods him permission to go out to his real friends, a smile widens on the small boy's face, and he nods his head right back in thanks. But happiness is short-lived. Especially for him. "But ask your cousins if they want to go with you." A concerned mother trying to get her son to socialize. A bullied son suffering under his mother's worrying decisions. But he doesn't let that destroy his happiness. No. No, he gets outside. He wants outside. His cousins don't.

Going back to the children-table, he turns their attention to him. He doesn't like their eyes. The eyes are bad. The eyes agrees with his fantasy. He is no human. "Do... D-do y-you wa-want to g-go outside w-with me?" he stutters, his voice weak and shaking. He fears his cousins. He fears them a lot. He doesn't know why. Only the picture of Dad erases that fear. His cousins are bad. They look at him with bad eyes. He doesn't like their eyes.

"Why should we want to go outside with a freak?" one of the older spat, hate even more clear in his voice than his eyes. The boy don't know his name. They don't have names. They aren't allowed to have names. He doesn't allow it.

"Yeah, why should we? You would just sent a flock of birds after us! _As if_ I want birds in my hair! Go away with you, you thing!" A girl. She had a name once. She was nice once. Now she likes her brother more than the small boy. And they don't like the small boy. So she doesn't like the small boy. And so, he stopped allowing her to have a name.

After a few more comments, the boy looks down in the ground. "Okay." It was what he wanted. To be alone. Alone and outside. He got was he wanted. But he also got words. He didn't like words. It's not like he doesn't know it. It's not like he doesn't know that he isn't human. Or that he doesn't know he isn't a living thing at all. But it still hurt to be told. He didn't like hurt. Why words hurt, he would ask his Dad when they met. He wanted to meet Dad soon.

The small boy went outside. He liked nature. In the winter, nature didn't die. Nor did it sleep. Other factors just come into play. The boy doesn't know what season he likes the most. Every day of the year is a day for the nature. In the summer, interesting birds from the south comes to him. In the winter, the all-year-around-birds feeds by his hand. In the spring, the foxes and deers have cubs and calves. In the autumn, the cubs goes for themselves and the calves have grown up... He has just decided. He likes autumn the best. The young animals are curious and new to the world. They have yet to find their place. So they find a place beside him, in the middle of the forest.

With him, animals have peace. The animals that normally prey each other lays down with him, sleeps with him, letting hunts be hunts as he keeps the hunger away from them all. Especially the young ones like this. In the autumn. When it begins to get hard for them to find food. They still haven't found their place in the worlds. They are like him.

The boy lies down, not caring that the white clothes touches the grass. Not caring that it gets dirty. Sometimes, Nikoline says he shouldn't do that, but it has been some time since the last she said that. He thinks it is because she has stopped caring about how he looks. He thinks he means a little bit less to her now than before. Before, she wanted him to look nice, but didn't keep him company. Didn't try to socialize. Now, she doesn't even tell him that he has to look good.

The truth is that she found out he feels good when he lies in the grass, surrounded by the insects and animals he loves, and then, she doesn't care if he gets dirty. The true reason behind leaving him alone before is because she has found out he seeks solitude, and though she is not sure that it is healthy for such a young child, she keeps with that. But that is truth he will never hear. And she will never be his mother. She isn't his mom. Dad knows who his mom is.

As he lies in the grass, he dreams away from the party. The world. He dreams he is ruling the skies with the birds at his side, every bird in the world, from the largest eagle to the smallest hummingbird. He dreams he is diving in the ocean, living with the steaming fish and jumps with the dolphins. He loves this. He loves his dreans.

And it is while he dreams he realizes one thing. In his dreams, he gets one of the visions he understand. He sees his Dad with the swings in the foreground and giant buildings in the background. There aren't such giant buildings in Norway. Where is his Dad? He had to find him...

And it was that moment a little boy decided to leave his family to seek out a creature of myths.

* * *

Alright, I'm freaking DYING, MAN, this writing-style is KILLING ME! It will change when he gets nine years old, okay? I hope I didn't scare you away, but the reason why I write like this is... Well, I will let your mind play with that. I wrote this because it is extremely hard to find any good Brooklyn-fics, and Brooklyn is such a special character and one of my faves, so... I just... had to do this.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading more than I enjoyed writing, cause as said... I'm not very happy about writing it. It is... so... slowish when you write it (hopefully not when you read it). And I would like to hear what you think about the thoughts he has about things and wtf it is with no-names and faceless folks.

Enjoy in joy and bye, it is going to take a loooong while before next update!


	2. Sailing without destination

So, in lack of inspiration to Bound to Change, I have written this story instead. I'm afraid I might not have completed the style I had from last chapter, because there is far more action than thinking in this chapter, but I just hope I did it well enough for it to be truthful, if you know what I mean.

Disclaimer: Do not own anything else than OCs, and you know who the OCs are. I also own the plot, but all of Beyblade and whatever other things that others own.

Warning: First chappie, folks! I'll tell if anything changes.

Reviews:

Alla Bethony: Damn! I thought I had found them all! English isn't my first language, but that isn't an excuse not to do it right. Anyway, the writing-style changes for an important reason that I probably am the only one able to figure out… Well, whatever, I do it no matter if it meant anything, cause I would die if I continued doing it!

San child of the wolves: Thank you. Hope you like next chapter too, and yeah, I think it fits him a lot too.

Just a little note. All the things they say in the beginning is in Norwegian. Normally, I would write the words in Norwegian, but since it's so much that is said in that language, I'm going to get a headache if I should try to make a translation of everything.

* * *

Sailing without destination

* * *

Seven years

* * *

To walk to Oslo is pretty far. Especially if you live in the northern part of Norway. Espen knows this. The boy isn't stupid. Walking to Oslo would be stupid. So he has found another way to travel. Nikoline doesn't know. Neither does the man. If they knew where he is, they would get angry at him. The boy also knows this. No, he really isn't stupid.

The bright, aqua eyes seek over the screen. Next train to Oslo won't come for three hours, which means he has to wait for some time. But he has taken two busses to get to the station, so Nikoline and the man won't be able to find him. And for what reason would their little son be in a train station on his way to the capital of Norway? They won't even look for him before the sun begins to set and the pure, little boy doesn't come back from the forest, as he normally does.

Three hours. Three hours aren't a long time. But three hours is enough time to get bored. The boy doesn't have anything with him. No clothes. No possessions. Only a little money. And especially nothing to fight off the boredom. So he just sits on the benches by the wall and waits without doing anything, sad that the station is placed inside so the animals are unable to reach him. His white clothes are slightly dirty after having been outside in the forest, as he had taken a shortcut to the nearest bus stop. It is two days since he celebrated his birthday with the family.

A woman suddenly approaches him with her teenage-daughter by her side. She smiles, and the boy decides he will name her Tina. She looks nice, and she looks like a Tina. "Hello, little darling," she says, and slight concern passes through her eyes. "What are you doing here? Are you all alone?" He likes her. She is not him mother, but he still likes her. She is nice. She deserves her name.

"I'm on my way to Dad," he tells her. He does not lie. He would never lie. Though he knows Dad is a liar. He does not know where Dad is. But he'll find him nonetheless. Destiny has decided it, and only waits for his movement. He knows this. Like he knows he is not like anyone else on the planet. Destiny is on his side. Always.

"Are you going on the train? Do you have your ticket?" The teenage girl looks just as concerned for the little child as her mom, though being in the age of sixteen and normally hating the embarrassing woman by her side. The boy does not understand why big children can't stand their parents. Maybe it is because he has none of his own?

With a slightly hovering look in his eyes, the aqua locks with the woman's, and then the girl's, eyes, wondering if he shall answer. Though he doesn't lie, he can avoid the truth. He can avoid talking. "I hope to find him in Oslo." But he decides to talk. Tina can't cause him any trouble, so he decides to talk.

The woman looks to the screen with the times of the different trains, then back at him, hesitating slightly. "We'll just take a later train," she says, wanting to protect the sweet, little kid, who is looking at her with a different sight than the rest of the whole world. Yeah… She really looked like a Tina. "It's only an extra hour."

"_Mom_, we have to go home!" the girl argues. He won't name her. She can have whatever name she wants. She's nothing special. Just another weird, big girl. Like all those big, weird boys.

"We can't leave him here either. Not alone. What mother lets her child go on a train in that age for such a long ride? It's irresponsible! Especially when he is so small!" The girl rolls her eyes, but does not argue. She can see that her mom is going to stand firm and is also concerned for the little boy. He is quite cute and looks small. Like a five-year-old. The girl normally doesn't like children in that age, but this is a special one.

But the boy isn't happy about it. Actually, he hates it. Cause an image push itself into his mind. They come more often now. They break his barrier to that part of his mind. So he sees them. He hates to see them. And he sees that the train is going to crash, and that the two of them would die in it. If they take the later train, they'll die. "You should go," he says. The woman will argue. She's going to argue. He can feel it. He doesn't want an argument. He wants her away. "_**GO!**_" The voice is so loud and intimidating that both woman and daughter take a step back. Their eyes are wide. They are scared. His voice is hoarse and angry like a wild, big predator. People are staring.

And there is a look in those small, aqua eyes. It isn't his eyes. It is someone else's. Or something else's. Something inhuman. And people don't like it. And people move away as fast as they can.

Alone in his part of the station, the kid smiles slightly. He is happy. Though alone again, as he has been for all his life, he is happy. The only thing on his mind is his Dad. And he is going to get his Dad. After a little more time, the train arrives, and he is on his way to the capital of the country he is born in and about to disappear from.

* * *

Coming to Oslo is a great disappointment for the child. He took one look into the skies and then had to fight back the tears. The wrong city. Destiny pulled him here… but it is the wrong city. He doesn't understand. Why would destiny take him to the wrong place? Why did it take him here? There is not enough really tall buildings. It's not the right city!

Feeling hopeless and helpless, the prodigy walked the street. His head is bowed. He knows he is not supposed to go back to the place that is not home. But he also knows he is in the wrong place. What should he do? It is also wrong to walk from the city. The boy trusts his instincts. Instincts are good. They are what keep the animals alive. And what will keep him alive. Cause he's alone. Now, he is all alone.

As he has always been supposed to.

He comes close to the harbor, and looks up with new hope. The pull. The pull of destiny. He leaves the TV-shop he had been staring at, showing the train-incident his mind had predicted earlier. Destiny is more important than already known accidents, and so, he begins to close in on the big freighters. Containers in different colors and with different letters on get on or off the giant ships, but no-one notices the little boy as he sneaks in to the forbidden area.

The workers are busy getting the big metal boxes onto or off the ships, and the boy suddenly runs on to the ships and push himself into the small spaces between the already placed containers. The boy doesn't believe in luck. Luck is wrong. Luck is nothing. Only destiny is. Everything happens according to destiny's path. The boy knows this. He also knows that special persons are able to change the path. And that the ones that can see destiny aren't the ones to change it…

But no matter if luck is there or not, the luck isn't on his side. He hears a worker come closer, and with wide eyes he pushes himself even further into the maze of creaks and cracks between the waving metal. But on his way around the corner, the space between two of the containerwalls slims in to nearly nothing, and suddenly he finds himself stuck between a rusty-red and a blue metalbox. The boy tries to get out, but can't. Stuck.

He whimpers and try to get himself free, but only managed to get himself into a new position, which makes him nearly unable to breathe. Panic clouds his mind and makes him fight even harder. A sharp edge on the red container digs into his chest, making a deep scratch. Pain… Blood begins to spread on the white clothes, staining the pure white color with wet, crimson darkness…

He cries a little harder, but isn't trying to move anymore. Bad idea. Destiny has leaded him to a bad idea. He doesn't like destiny. Though he hopes to find Dad with it, he doesn't like destiny. Not right this moment, at least.

* * *

He doesn't know if he lost consciousness or if he kept away all the way through, but the next thing happening is opening his eyes again and taking a look around. He is hungry. No, not the right word. His stomach is a black hole. It hurts. He feels uncomfortable. Pain is uncomfortable. The blood on his clothes has dried to a dark-crimson layer of extra skin, sticking to his real, sore skin like a leech.

His aqua eyes shifted, looking for the source to getting him to react. Nothing. He finds nothing but a roar of a machine starting, then a screeching that seems familiar. He knows now that he has been sleeping. Rats have been biting his white clothes. Their teeth have made marks on his former white sleeves and former white pants. He had slept. For a long time. And the machines are still running.

The boy doesn't like it. He doesn't have control. He always has control. But here, things happen that he can't control, and it's scary. He needs control. Else, the world becomes a monster. The kind that scares him. The kind that Dad can't hide him from or protect him from. Normal monsters aren't scary. They are funny and stupid. But when the whole world becomes a monster… when the whole world becomes your enemy… Then, scary isn't even the word to describe it.

He screams. He screams in fear and hate and despair. He screams at the world that has opened itself to him after he left his confined home in the cold north. And just as he screams, the red container moves. It slides away from him and disappears into the air. He falls down on the floor, gasping as he is able to take deep breaths again.

Bread. His hand hit bread. There's bread everywhere around him, small, dry, crumbling pieces. Where did it come from? Fruit too. Bread and fruit. To fill the black hole of hunger. He takes it in his hand and takes a bite. Then another one. Still wondering what it is that have caused this rain of food. Cause food doesn't just come out of nowhere. He knows this. He's not stupid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and turns his head. Two rats stand there, watching him as he eats the bread. It is them who have come with the food. It's obvious. He nods his head towards two, and they answer him with a small sound before running to safety as more containers is moved by the cranes. Feeling danger, the boy stands. He must away. The ship is dangerous. It was stupid to go on to the ship. Destiny is stupid right now.

He bows down again and picks up as much food he can, before he run through the ship, seeking land and security. It doesn't take long before he set his legs on the ground. He is panting heavily. He is not built for running. Or any other physical challenges. He is not supposed to run. Yet he is not done with it yet.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing here?" someone addresses him in English, and he looks up to see and bulky man come towards him. He looks around, and sees a giant harbor with many ships and workers. Giant. Bigger than anything he has ever seen before. So big it's scary. Frightening. It's noisy and wild, but not wild in the way the animals is said to be. It's different.

The man gets closer, but as soon as the boy sees him, he turns and flees, running as fast as he can manage in his already panting, exhausted, hungry state. He ran and ran until he lost his footing and fell flat on the hard pavement, the food flying everywhere. A shadow suddenly stands over him, but he is no longer afraid. He has a good feeling, and he doesn't know why.

"Are you okay?" a hoarse, male voice says in English, and the white boy looks up, still panting. An old man, staring down at him. Gray hair, ragged clothes, wrinkled face. Shiny, dark eyes. A feeling of security. "You fell pretty hard. What were you running from? How old are you? Is it your food?" The boy decides to call him Stan. Stan is worrying. For that reason, Stan deserves a name. Though their paths wouldn't cross for long, he got a name.

The boy sit up as his aqua eyes goes down the poor clothes and shoes of his Stan. "I'm okay. It's my food. You want some? I can share? You need some too. You don't have a home, right?" He speaks English with a singing accent, but it is so little he might as well be from Britain. The man just watch the boy, then take his wrinkled hands out of the pockets of his coat and helps him to his feet. Then, they both take the food in his arms again.

"How old did you say you are?" Stan asks again, and the boy simply grins at him. "And where do you live?"

"I didn't tell you. I'm seven, and I don't live here. I'm looking for Dad." The man looks confused, but the boy is beginning to walk. Though, before they leave each other fully, the boy forces nearly all his bread and fruit down in the man's pocket.

"Don't you think you should keep some?" the man says, but the boy just shakes his head.

"I know I won't die. With you, I'm not sure."

* * *

It is a thrilling joy that continues to twist and turn inside the boy's stomach as he walks and twist and turns his head and stares up in the sky so far above him. It seems so far away… But that is only because of the enormous buildings that reach up to touch the small crack of blue sky. He has reached it. Somehow, he has gotten all the way over to the city with the giant buildings where he is supposed to meet his dad.

Destiny knew what would happen when he got onboard the ship. So he likes destiny. If destiny's results gives him this joy, he will never doubt it again. The problem is just, he doesn't know what to do next. Where to go. How to survive. How they would meet, and when. His Dad.

He walked aimlessly for a long time, waiting for the pull to come and guide him. It took a while. A very long while. Then, the big buildings began thinning out and the area changed. The pull of destiny comes again, leading him to a less trafficked area. He hears the sound of other children, playing, and feels dragged towards it. That is a new thing. Never before has he wanted the company of someone else.

It leads him to a playground, and a big bunch of children, some older, some younger than him. They all stand in a small circle around something, cheering and yelling. He nears them, curious, as he always has been. What are they doing? Would they want him in? No-one ever wanted him in. No-one ever let him be a part of something. So why shall it be different here?

He stops a little away from the circle, listening to them. His clothes dirty, his hair wild. He doesn't fit in. He knows he doesn't. He doesn't know it he wants to fit in. He doesn't think so. It's good to be alone.

He walks to the swings beside him and sits down, but he never stops watching them. He wants to, so badly. Wants to know what they are doing. Wants to be apart. But he will not let himself do so. He likes to be alone, remember? When he is alone, he knows how the world is going to evolve, how the changes is going to be.

But he is not supposed to be alone. Not this small time, this small hour and these two days, at least.

A boy, in the middle of all the excitement, turns his head a look at the swings. By coincidence, his attention turns to the swings, maybe in a boring moment, maybe remembering something from those swings. No matter what, he looks up, and sees the poor boy sit on the swing. And so, his path begins.

"Hey!" he yells, making the rest of them turn their attention, first to him, then to where his gaze leads. They see the boy. They get curious. And they approach him.

They are many, and the boy is not used to many people. He prefers one person. Maybe two. Three is alright. Four is a little too much, and five is chaotic. Six only happens when he doesn't decide it. And now, fifteen children, boys and girls, are nearing him. He clenches the chains on the swing, begging them not to come too close to him, but they don't stop before the nearest can touch him if they reach out.

"Who are you?" one of them asks, and the boy opens his mouth to answer. But then, he feels something inside him decide not to answer. His name is his. But what should he say then?

They stare at him as he close his eyes and seek into the other part of his mind. What to say? What to do? He can't find the answer, no matter where he seeks for it, it continues to slip away from him. The pressure of too many people seems to make him loose all his confidence, and he opens his eyes again and speaks with a shaky voice. "I… I'm… New here. Don't… don't really… have a name…"

"What is that supposed to mean?" an older girl snapped, making him flinch away from her. He likes adults more than children, even if adults often underestimate him. "Can't you just say your name instead?" The boy shakes his head and looks down, his lip trembling, the insecurity getting more obvious. But he has just found his way to get out of the situation, finally seeing his escape. Though not knowing what they did before, he knows it means a lot to them.

"What were you doing?" he asks, looking from face to face, but avoiding the girl who had been interrogating him before. It seems light is lighten in all the faces, and they immediately stops being hostile towards the orange-haired boy on the swing. Only a few of the older are still looking suspiciously at him, but it isn't many.

One of them takes the boy's hand and drags him over to a big, bowl-looking thing. "We're blading, of course! Want to be a part of it? I'm going to beat you!" The boy sounds confident, not knowing the truth. Not knowing the future. Not knowing how no-one will beat this boy. Not understanding that he is standing in front of a prodigy. A prodigy, who will be a threat to the world someday. But also a prodigy that means no harm on anyone.

"You're what?" the boy asks, oblivious to the sport that would end up meaning so much to him. He has seen the tops a hundred times. He knows they lie in his future. But he doesn't know the name of the tops.

The children stare at him like he is insane. "You don't know beyblading?" the boy who has challenged him asks, and the boy shakes his head. "So you don't have your own blade?" he asks again, even though it is obvious. And the boy shakes his head again. "Ehm… It's a game where you should just knock the other blade out of the stadium. You can see a match, then play with me, okay? You can play with my old blade."

The boy just nods, not seeing the malicious look on the other kid's face as he finds another opponent. Since the majority of the children are boys, his opponent is a boy too, and they goes to each side of the dish. The boy watches as a nearly even match is played out before his eyes. Then finally, after five minutes of slamming into each other, one of the blades falls, and the winner is the boy who has challenged Espen.

A white blade is stuck into the boy's hands. "Here," the other boy says, then walks over and gets ready. He is the only one knowing how unbalanced, too light and bad his old blade is, and he is going to make the new kid look bad. He doesn't want the new kid to be good. Children can be evil, and strangers and silent kids are easy targets. So he has given the boy a blade that can't even spin right.

The others count down and with slightly shaking hands, the boy sends the beyblade down on the stadium. Though it should be shaking because of both the boy being a beginner and the blade being out of balance. It is supposed to fall the first time the green blade come towards it, but when it is hit, it stands where it had stood from the beginning. It doesn't fall back the least.

The white blade stands still. The boy is getting a headache. It's hard to keep it standing. Why is it hard to keep it standing? Nothing is hard to him. Everything is easy. It is supposed to be easy. Else, it's not fun. "If I win, I want your green blade," he suddenly says, with a voice far more serious and far scarier than the unsecure one from before. He doesn't know why he wants the other blade, but it seems like a good idea. Very good idea. Since the other gives him a headache. He doesn't like headaches. They make him unable to think right.

The other one snorts. "It won't matter, you won't win."

"So you're scared that you lose your blade and make a bet?" Once again, it is something very unlike the boy. He is polite. Always polite. Can never think of evil things to say. Will never want to harm anyone. Yet now, he is talking. He is harming another one. And taking a chance. Cause he is not sure if he will win. He doesn't want to attack the other. To harm him or use violence. So he can't win. He doesn't know what to do. He has no chance of winning.

The green blade tries to attack again, but instead of taking the blow, the boy leans a little to the side. His blade moves in the last second, a little to the left, and the green blade passes him, hit him, and… gives the blade more rotation? It spins faster than before. And that is something the other boy doesn't like. So he tries again.

The same thing happens. And it does again. And again. Without attacking even once, he slowly drains his enemy of energy. It takes long. Ten minutes. Then, the green blade can't take it anymore. It drops, with the other blade still spinning. And it is with mixed feelings that the kids around him looks at the battle. "May I take your blade?" the boy asks innocently, the other side of him away again and only a confused, little boy in a whole new world.

The other boy glare at him fiercely, making him look down and away, but then kicks the green blade over towards him so it lands by his feet. "Take it," he says, turning away. "I don't need it anyway." And with angry steps, the bully disappears, even leaving the white blade behind. After him, many of the other children want to beat the boy. And the outcome is obvious and unchangeable, and so is his tactic of not hitting his opponents.

* * *

The first day, everyone just had to fight him. The second day, they just had to get a rematch. The third day… The third day…

"Hey, wanna play again?" a girl by the name of Winnie asks, smiling brightly. She has been playing him six times in the few days they had known him, and now, she is going to win. She knows it, she feels it, she wants to do it. She believes she can do it this time. Or he is cheating in some way. He acts like he doesn't know what beyblade is or hasn't tried it before, yet he wins towards everyone. The beginner-luck has to stop somewhere, sometime. Else, he must be cheating.

The boy looks up from the ground. He has been living on the swings, finding food with the animals he sees, like he follows the wild dogs begging in front of a restaurant or the cats sniffing out the edible garbage. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind," he answers her, smiling. He likes her. He likes all the children. He never knew it felt so good being with others. He only wants to be there more. But since he has no family, he can't do so.

They get ready, and once again, the match is long. Once again, he doesn't attack. Once again, the match brings a lot of bystanders. Once again, he wins without even trying. And once again, the match is not ended with cheers and happiness like the other matches often is. An empty, unexcited silence surrounds the two dead blades.

Only to be broken into pieces by Winnie saying the stupidest thing to the boy you can imagine. "You are cheating." The memory of the man appears. He said the boy was cheating, too. "You say you have never bladed before, but you are invincible. You have lied, and you must be cheating. And I don't like liars or cheater." There is something else in her eyes. Hate. She hates him. He doesn't want to be hated.

Winnie lost her name.

"Yeah," someone on the side says. "How can you do it! You probably have some weird technique to make your blade spin longer! That the only way you can spin a blade like that!" It is the boy he had fought the first day. His name is Adam. "Anything else is sick!" The same kind of hate is in Adam's eyes. Though more intense. He lost his blade to this kid. So he has more reason to hate the boy. But the boy really doesn't want to be hated.

Adam lost his name.

Someone laughed on the side, and the boy took a step back, seeing where it will end. He doesn't even need his other mind. It is obvious. "Maybe _he_ is sick! He is a weirdo! He doesn't even have a home!"

Ryan lost his name.

"Yeah! Freak! You don't belong here!"

Alicia lost her name.

"Freak! Find someone else to pester!"

Benjamin lost his name.

"Go home where you belong!"

Dan lost his name.

"We don't want you here!"

Simon lost his name.

"Go away!"

Fred lost his name.

Someone reaches out and push the boy backwards so he falls to the ground.

The boy lost his patience.

Another part took over, and the boy rise from the dirt and push the boy right back, the innocent eyes dark, angry and longing for revenge. But he doesn't have as much power as the other one, but still manages to nearly get the other one to fall over. In his rage, he is blind, though he still knows everything that happens around him.

"You think you are better than me?" he asks, nearly yelling with that hoarse, monstrous, intimidating voice that in the end isn't really his own, images of the future flying past his vision in a confusing stream. "You think you can do what you want with me, because you are more and I am one? Try, and you will know!"

"So you think _you_ are better than us instead? You don't even have a family or a home!" the boy that previously was Adam yells back, trying to cover up his fear from the rest of the children. Espen smells his fear, but the rest doesn't and is encouraged by the words. So encouraged they don't notice how the features of the white boy seems to change just slightly, or the black shadow of angelic wings flows in the air behind him that seems to be for the eye of a imaginative person.

But the boy doesn't move at his words. He is his other mind, and wants to harm everyone who as much as touches him. "I said you try." The white, ragged clothes look as if they heal themselves, the dirt seeming to disappear. And though none of the children have tendency of violence, and none of the children normally would hit without a reason, they can't ignore a challenge. And they can definitely not be the one who backs out of the group.

But who should begin? Neither wanting to be the first to back down or the first to do anything, they stood with their fear of getting outside of the group. Alone. Like the boy in front of them was. Then, one of the many nameless takes a step forward and try to hit him. He moves out of reach and then hit back, managing to get a fist planted rather hard into the opponent's breast. Then, the other nameless moves too, and since the boy neither runs nor is normally violent, he has no chance at all.

And yet, it is the last time any of them are going to bug or contact the small, white boy.

* * *

Eight years

* * *

He lives on those swings. And he is left alone on those swings.

He still has the rumor of being the best blader in this neighborhood. The kids living in the houses, which is a part of the playground 'society' of that certain playground, never would claim they can beat him. Neither do they talk to him or challenge him. They know he is better, and they believe him a monster for it.

Every once in a while, the 'champion' of other parts of the city comes to challenge the best blader on the playground to find new opponents. Fortunately for them, the boy always agrees to play if he is challenged. Unfortunately for them, he doesn't lose. Still without touching his opponents blade with his own, he stands tall and avoid their attacks until they lose all their energy.

But the week before, a greater than the rest came along. He was stronger than the rest, bigger than the rest. Light hair, dark skin. And he was faster. The boy had had a lot of trouble with him, and was forced to attack him. And though he only had to attack the other blade once to stop it, and though he hadn't felt anything special while doing so, it was enough for the cat to catch the scent.

And the mouse to be caught is a little, Norwegian boy.

* * *

It is late in the evening, and the playground is deserted except for the boy, who is lying in the grass beside the swings and looking into the sky, which is so dark and starless when he thinks himself back to the Norway. He hears someone walk towards him, but doesn't bother looking to the side. He doesn't need to look. He has known they will meet for long, and this is the only vision he has had that is totally certain.

So he doesn't move even a finger, when a purple-haired head bows over him and blocks his view to the stars. He doesn't move even a finger, when dark eyes suddenly look down upon him with half-hidden intentions. No, he doesn't move when he meets the man who will take an enormous part in his life shows up.

"You are the boy who disappeared from Norway," Boris says, trying to get the boy comfortable with him. "Your name is Espen, isn't it?"

"I don't have a name anymore, Boris," the boy says, even though the man hasn't told him his name. "But that was my name when I lived there."

"America is pretty far away from Norway. You must be skilled when you can get so far without even leading a trail for anyone to follow." Something glistened in Boris' eyes as he looks the boy over. "You beyblade, don't you? Would you mind blading with one of my kids? He needs some training and experience."

The boy knows it is a lie. He knows he is being tested. He doesn't know what it is about him that is being tested, but he knows it is unimportant. And yet, he tells the man yes. And he blades with the boy Boris has with him who can't even speak English. And he beat him with only a little more trouble than the normal boys he meets in the stadium.

Boris looks up from his computer as the battle is done and smiles at the boy. "So, where is your bitbeast?"

"What is a bitbeast?" the boy asks, looking confused.

"I know you have one. I recorded activities of a bitbeast in battle, so you most have one." The boy shakes his head no, since he doesn't know what a bit beast is and is certain he doesn't have one. "If you lie to me…" the man begins to threat, but is stopped by the boy, who shakes his head once more.

"I don't lie. Not to you, and not to anyone, Boris. I don't have a bitbeast or knows what it is."

After a little while of hesitation, Boris just nods and looks the boy over again. "Don't you want a bath? Some food? And new clothes?" he tries to convince. And he is right. The boy is dirty, the clothes nearly totally destroyed from all the things that has happened to them, and he has gotten skinny from getting too little food. He never has been big, but not being able to eat the hunger away any night doesn't help, either. "You must freeze out here in the cold. Don't you want a home?"

The boy just stood where he had just bladed, watching him with his aqua eyes, a small, lazy smile covering the face. "I want all that, yes. But I don't want to live in your abbey. If you want me one day and don't want to catch me and cage me like a tortured bird, you may always find me. But the caged bird doesn't sing, and the flower trapped from light wilts away. That is a lesson you must learn with your many children. But I still don't know if I can trust you." The boy sat down beside Boris, straightening his destroyed clothes.

This makes the Russian man think. Though never seen him before, the boy seems to know a lot about him and his activities. But at the same time, he doesn't seem to judge him or hate him for it. And if he really doesn't have a bitbeast, and he still is able to trigger the powercharger on his computer, that boy is a blader more skilled than any of his own kids. "You can live with me, get new clothes and share my food until I go back to Russia again." This boy is a keeper. So you have to be cautious not to make him hate you and follow him a little in his game.

"That's okay. I would like that, if you really would want to use your money on me. I really don't want to bother you, but as long as I still can come to these swings every day, I would happily do it. I'm going to meet Dad here someday."

Boris just smiles reassuringly. "I would use all the money in the world on you, little boy."

* * *

Okay, finally done, here is the next chapter, and I don't have any more time ^^ So, just don't hate me if the style is totally off. Also, review me if I did something bad, please.

Enjoy in joy ^^


	3. Brooklyn Kingston

Okay, I _tried_ to continue Bound to Change, but then I tripped over a Brooklyn-fic and fell headfirst into the sea of inspiration. I am so terrible sorry, I really am. I should be making BtC, not this one, but I can't help it right now -.-' Why is it that Brooklyn is so damn inspiring? It least when written well, he seems to bring a spell over my writing.

Disclaimer: See former chapters.

Warnings: First chapter, though I will say if anything will change.

Reviews:

Gud: It's da same as always, mah friend ^^

And finally, I will show you my creation!

* * *

Brooklyn Kingston

* * *

Eight years

* * *

The boy sits on a bed. He just sits there. His hands touches the linen, the orange hair soaked red to the color of nearly black. The blue eyes touch the silky linen. Impressive. Impossible. The bed is so soft. Like the tips of his fingers. It is so fantastic that he could sit in a bed. Incredible. He has totally forgotten the feeling of a proper bed, and the boy just sits there. Touching it. Staring. Boris really is nice. So nice. He needs both a face and a name. The boy likes him.

What is more fantastic that the bed is the clothes. Still all white. The fabric soft. It is entirely different from the one he had before, and yet it seems the same. He has even been the one to pick it in the store. He picked the best one. The one with pants like snow, and the shirt feels like the cotton of a cloud. He likes the shirt. And the pants. Just as much as he likes Boris. Even if Boris makes bad things to other children, he likes him.

Other children have never been nice to the boy ever, anyway. Why should he want to protect them? They make him sit all alone. That is nice, but not if it is all the time. They call him bad things. That is never nice. He has no reason not to like Boris, and no reason to want to help other children. They even hurt him. Beat him up. Boris will not do that.

The purple-haired man sits in the chair of the small two-bed hotel room, watching the boy with interest. After giving him a bath, the new clothes and some food, he finds that this boy is beautiful. Even in his wicked mind, he looks at the boy and sees skin that is soft where it should have been hardened by the life on the street. A face that is round and soft like a beautiful child should have. Hair that is strong and has not faded in color, despite his hard life. Hands with long, slender fingers. Long, thin legs and a long, slender upper body.

The only things wrong with this beauty are that he is too thin. And the look in the eyes. As he stares at the fabric on the bed that he touches, Boris cannot help but notice it. Even if the color is as bright, beautiful and odd on the boy's eyes that they will be hard to compare with anything, it is as though a veil separate the reality away from those eyes. And either the boy sees things that is not real or does not see the real things.

Still, Boris is actually able to see the beauty. Two flaws are all that is on that body, and one of them is even possible to change in a short matter of time. It will only take proper food. The other... Since the boy seems to know everything about Boris without having ever met him, the man is very sure there is more power behind those foggy eyes than the expression on the boy shows.

A man in Boris' position and doing the science and experiments that he does, he has to be at least a little superstitious, and from there to believe you have found the superior creature on earth, is not far. And seeing the boy blade, hearing how he speak despite his age, it is oh, so clear that there is more to the boy. "You are sure you do not want to come with me to Russia?" he asks, and the boy looks at him with ghostly eyes.

Then, he shakes his head no. "I have to wait for my Dad." Then the boy jumps down from the bed and goes to the window, staring out at the park underneath them. Central Park. The boy misses the wild. The big forests. The large trees. The animals. But there are so few in this place. And the cars. Cars scare him. Unlike the monsters in the horror-movies, cars are scary. They have faces. And they kill. He only has been in a car when he drove with the people that are not his parents, and that was rare. He was home-schooled. Or rather, schooled himself.

"Who is your Dad? And how did you get separated?" Boris tried to show interest, making the boy comfortable. But the boy did not seem to notice just what tone he was spoken to with. His eyes are on the trees. Birds. Squirrels. And he wondered if there were foxes in the city. His red friends had the ability to live everywhere, he had read.

But even though his mind is away, he still heard the man. And with the blue eyes concentrating on the park, he answered. "We never met. Dad is the power that rules the night. I do not know my Mom, but Dad is the one that sends lightening down on those who harm us. He controls the seas and the universe, has the power over legends and rules the Earth from a place far away. He is called evil, born to destroy humans who do not listen or follow orders!"

The more he speaks, the darker, hoarser and more intimidating the voice gets. From the chair just beside him, Boris watches him, the man's eyes widening more and more the more he hears. And yet it was not possible to see if he feared the boy, or simply just found the words interesting for his plans.

"He lives to judge, his body black from the power he has, and is hardened by centuries and millenniums where he has lived! He is the ultimate being, the King of Darkness!" The man beside him stared as his mouth formed a single, unspoken word. _Zeus_. "But he is not dark or hard." The boy's voice got soft again, and he turned to the man, his eyes pleading. "His body is, but his soul seeks love. He is kind. My Dad is kind, I promise you!" The boy's eyes are glazed, as if he has a bad fever. "Tell them, Boris! Tell them! Tell them that he is not evil!"

"Who?" Boris asked, not understanding the boy anymore. He sounded insane. Absolutely, completely and utterly insane.

"My team, Boris! You know them! You were the one putting us together! Ming-Ming, Garland, Crusher, Mystel, they do not trust me... They think I am insane... And they blame Dad. Dad is not the cause of my insanity..." The boy blinked a few times, while the man was trying to catch his breath. Then the boy scratched his nose and smiled at him, like nothing had happened. The blue eyes got clearer, but the veil was still concealing them "That is who my Dad is."

Trying to play along with the boy's game, the man nodded. "I think I know him. But there have been no records of activities from him for the last two hundred years. Are you sure you should wait for him at such a young age? And why here, of all places? He might first come to you when you have grown up."

The boy shook his head. "I know. My half-sister could not bear having him in her possession, so she ended up dying 184 years ago. But I will take the chance, as she did. And I saw my Dad come here. I saw him. He will come soon, and then I will see if I am able to live with him, unlike my sister." The boy turns his eyes to the park again, but then turns his eyes upwards to look at the sinking sun. "The sun does not look the same as the one back in Norway."

"It is a big city," Boris says, his mind seeming to run at high speed, thinking about the words the boy has said. This boy certainly is something else, and the man has to keep the boy even if he will lose the boy's trust if he takes him away to the Abbey. Only one thing to do, then. "I will go back to Russia tomorrow. We buy some more clothes and some food for you before I leave. Unfortunately, I cannot buy you a place to live that is better than that playground; it would make the police notice you. And they will not let you live on your own."

The man smiles at the boy and reaches out to pet him on the head. The blue eyes finally find back to him again, and the boy hesitates a bit, before leaning his head towards the man's hand. The last time anyone touched him with this kind of kindness was when he was back in Norway, and his not-mother had one of her kinder days. She would rarely touch him, or speak him, for she knew he preferred being away from people.

So that Boris does this to him, this act of kindness, is what eventually will make him sell his soul to the devil. Like his Dad, Boris will become a light in his dark mind, when the visions become unbearable. "If you need me, you can always call me on this number."

The man takes his hand away, the boy nodding in slight disappointment when the hand stops touching him. The man has turned around and is writing number down on a piece of paper. "I will give you money so you have something for a payphone, and for food if you need it. Just make sure you do not throw them away." He turns around and gives the piece of paper to the boy. "Oh, and one last thing. It is going to hurt, but is necessary."

The man moves to his luggage and looks for something in it, and after a while, he finds it. It is a small, hand-held machine, resembling to one you use for piercings. "Give me your arm," the man says after putting something in to the device. The boy follows orders, and Boris puts the machine to the lower arm and presses the machine, forcing a small chip to go in under the boy's skin. He yelps in pain and tries to take his hand back, but the man holds him hard and picks up the blood coming out for the small, but long wound. Just enough to make a DNA-test.

Tears forms in his eyes, and when Boris set a patch on to his wound and let go, he finally gets to run away. He seeks for the bathroom, the only other room in the hotel-room, and sits down out there and cries, the pain and surprise not being to his liking. Boris suddenly stands in the door, and trying to hide his contempt towards crying children, he squats down and takes the boy in his arms in a hug. Still sobbing, the boy presses himself in to the man's body, like he would have done with his mother, and says something inaudible.

"I'm sorry, kid," Boris say, patting the boy on the back. "I had to do it. Now, I can find you wherever you go. The chip I put in to your body makes me able to come and save you no matter if you do not know where you are calling me from. Is that not a good thing?" It is with a smile of relief that he feels the boy nod. It did not make him lose the boys trust, and he was quite sure the small child would have refused to let him do it if he had known what would happen.

They sit like that for a long while, Boris showing father-qualities he would never show to anyone else. He even smiles at the closeness. He really likes this boy, even if the beauty is only another weapon among all the rest. Though probably the strongest, he is just another weapon. But he is a loveable weapon, even for this hateful man.

"Are you alright now?" he asks when the boy push away from him, and his rough hands dries the tears off the boy's soft face. He does not seem to notice that his clothes are soaked in those salty tears. Or maybe he just does not care about it as he dries the tears away, the smallest glimpse of love coming past his face.

The boy just nods, and Boris takes him in his arms and carries him to the bed, striping the clothes off him. It is years since Boris last saw a boy with no scars on his body, and he is once again caught by that beauty of the child's pale body. But without his clothes on, only sitting in his new underpants, the boys seems even more like an angel than before. And Boris gently helps him under the covers and put him to sleep. He could not even resist the urge to kiss the boy's forehead, and he caresses the chin and cheeks of the boy one more time before going away.

"You may never go out of my life again, will you promise me that, Boris?" the boy whispers as the lights are turned off, and the man just become a dark silhouette in the room.

"Of course, little boy." And though Boris' words are so kind that it seems he never had harmed another child, and though he really means the love in his words, the plans for this boy is already forming in his head. Even if the boy is sure he has finally found a man who does not see him as only a prodigy and who want to be his 'father' for that reason, he is terribly wrong. Despite this different treatment, he had never met one who would degrade him to a thing as much as this particular man.

* * *

Nine years

* * *

The boy sits on the swings. He is not even swinging, his eyes on the children. They are playing. Playing without him. It is one of his worse days, and the tears fall from his face in a river so small even he did not notice it. Alone. He is so alone. So alone that it hurts. In this place, he does not even have the animals to comfort him. Or his Dad. Or Boris. It is only him, and he can only watch as love is flowing from the kids who had beaten him up for about a year ago.

He does not want to look at them. Normally, the world inside his brain is scarier than the one outside. Today, it is the opposite. In his own mind, he never knows what he can expect. He does not know if he sees the death of someone, the pain of the future. But here, today... he does not care for the fears he finds inside his mind. Today, he only cares for the kids who have thrown him away from them. Why did they do it? Why did they push him away?

Because he can, and they cannot. Because he can win all his matches. Because he can speak four languages fluently, and they cannot. It is not jealousy they feel. Unlike the adults he has met, they know what he is. Or, they do not. But they know what he is not. Just like he expect he knows. He is not human. He is not born in this world. Because of this, he can everything. He can everything, they cannot. He is inhuman. They fear him as he fears them for knowing.

It probably is just the fantasy. Fantasy of theirs. Fantasy of his. The fantasy that seems to come over everyone he meets who is about the same age as he. Fantasies that make him think that is the reason why he is popular by the animals. But the fantasy is hurtful. Today, as any other day he gets this thought, it is hurtful. Now, it is just worse.

So he bows his head, closes his eyes, go in to the darker place in his mind. Visions, images, fly by him. A snowy country, a tall building with letters on, a forest, a TV, his old home back in Norway, blood. Boris. An avalanche, a blizzard, kids beyblading, a kendo, a pink microphone. His Dad. A black, official-looking car, a cop, making the tall building with letters, bull-dozers, a whip, a bey-stadium, a long-haired teenager getting ripped to shreds by winds.

The glimpses takes less than a second each, a confusing mass of sudden pictures, with single actual scene in midst of chaos. But they are so rare. The scenes do not give him a headache, only what the pictures does. He feels the pictures slowing slightly, and knows he is deeper in to his mind than he normally becomes before opening his eyes to flee from the chaos.

He has never waited so long that he could see what happened. See if the pictures and scenes stop at some point in time, or if it just continues at a slower, better pace. He has never dared to. What if he gets caught in there? What if he cannot open his eyes again, if he opens that part of his mind? If he stays in there for too long? In the end, he is too scared of the other one that is there. The one he thinks he has seen every now and then.

Silhouettes of things flying around him begins to disturb the pictures and scenes, as if they fades away and shows what they so desperately tries to hide away from him. A darkness begins to grow stronger, a new chaos forming just underneath his eyelids, and someone moved around down there. In the layers of his mind he has never before tried to glimpse at. He does not like it, and opens his eyes with a little more trouble than he likes.

Outside, the water pours down on him. With giant drops of cold liquid, the weather decides to hide his tears away. Wash it all away. So much that he does not know if he still cries. The other kids are gone. They have gone, into the homes they have, with their families, and maybe friends too. Once again letting the white boy sit alone on his swings. They do not even care that the rain has come. That the boy may be cold. That he might die. No, they do not care.

And the boy is cold. So cold that he holds his arms tightly to his body to get warmth, though it does not help. So the boy has to find some place to hide. He does not know when he will meet his Dad, but he is sure of one thing. It will not be on a rainy day. For that reason, and that reason only, he is able to stand up from the swing and move away from the playground and begins to walk down the streets of the city that is far too big for him.

His feet are heavy, the body stiff from the cold, and his soaked hair sticks to his face. The streets are emptier than he is used to, and those who are out in this weather have raincoats and umbrellas to protect them from the falling streams of water. The streets are darker than usual, both because of the clouds well-done attempt of hiding the sun, but also because of the black raincoat the major part of people preferred.

Every time a car drive past, the boy flinches away from the road. He hates car. Cars are killers. They harm animals. He can remember a time he drove with the man back in Norway, and they ran over a deer. That is probably the reason the poor boy hates the cars. But people stares after him in the rain, hiding underneath their plastic-shields, seeing his thin, white clothes, which sticks out in the darkness like a beacon at sea against the blackness of other people's black clothes. And since he sticks so much out, some people actually begins to get concerned about this small boy.

He does not know how long he has walked aimlessly on the streets before he meets a bridge, which leads someplace else. It lightens his path, seems to stand there with its arms wide and welcome him to this new experience. As his blue eyes looks through the heavy mist of rain, he recognizes the bridge from somewhere. A picture. Something old bridges in a book he read... He does not remember what it is called. He seeks through his mind, trying to remember it.

A hand touches his shoulder, firm, but kindly. The boy ignores him, his mind concentrating a hundred percent of remembering what it is he is looking at, and for that reason, he does not hear the man's question. Neither does he look like he even knows the man is there. "What is your name, little boy?" He is a cop, the exact one Brooklyn saw half an hour ago in his visions. A policeman who looks at him with concerned eyes, probably thinking the boy is brain damaged since he stares out in the distance like a retard.

"Brooklyn," the boy whispers as he finally remembers the name, but it is not loud enough for the man to hear it, and he stares at the soaking wet boy with a frown on his face. It is then the boy finally seems to recognize the feeling of a hand upon his shoulder, and his looks up, the brilliantly blue eyes surprising the man when they stare up at him with incredible intelligence. He, unlike Boris, does not notice how those eyes seem to be concealed from the true world.

And since he did not hear what the man said, he has to ask again. "What did you say?" he said, trying to see emotions in the boy's eyes. Fright to see a stranger come over and touch him, or maybe happiness for the same reason? No matter which you could expect, the boy neither showed happiness nor sadness, fright nor comfortableness. It is as though the boy had expected everything. Even if this is one of the events he had not foreseen already.

The boy sighed, as though he thought the man was stupid. Taking a new breath, the boy opened his mouth. "I said 'Brooklyn'." The man frowned again, seeming to be confused. But he knew what he had to do. The boy was being here, all alone, and whoever his parents were had a responsibility, weird name or not.

"Alright, Brooklyn," the man said and tried to smile. It did not really succeed. "You must be cold and hungry. What about you come back to the station, and then we can talk over some food? It is not healthy to stand out here and get soaked." The boy just nods and let the man lead him over to the police car. The boy does not know what to think. The man does not deserve a self-made name. He is nice. He is offering food, and probably new clothes, too. But he has a hidden agenda, which is how much the boy knows. So the boy does not want to give him a name.

Inside the car, the boy begins to shiver. His whole body shakes, trembling as if the cold weather finally affects him. But it is not the weather that has gotten to him, and he stares out the window. Why is he here? Why is he here, in a car? He bites his lip and closes his eyes to get away from it, the only way he knows to get away from reality. And for the second time in less than two hours, he sees the images and scenes fly past him in a chaotic blur.

The next thing he knows is that something disturbs his body. The boy opens his eyes. He looks up. The cop. He lays in the cop's arms, the man thinking he had fallen asleep on the ride. The boy closes his eyes again. He might as well play along, and he drops his head in to the man's chest, while the cop's partner opens the door for the two. "He is so skinny that I can feel his bones," the man holding the boy informs. "He has to have been on the street for a long time."

His partner shakes his head. "I cannot get myself to believe that. He is far too relaxed around people, especially cops as us. We will just have to find his family and find out what the hell this is all about."

Feeling no more water fall in to his closed eyes, the boy opens them and stares up at the man's face. James. He is a James. And a nice one of those. His rough hands are nice, and his body is warm and muscular. Snuggling closer in to the man's body, the cop cannot help but smile at the boy's actions. The boy reminds him of a mistreated dog, who is still wagging its tail at whoever shows it kindness. A story that is only able to end well.

Oh, if he just knows about the chip in the boy's arm, the story would have ended well.

"When you two are done falling in love, we have to go on with the show here." The two turn their heads towards the second cop, who frown at the two. Then the boy turns his head away from him and takes a bite of the cop's shirt, sucking at it and closes his eyes, as if to fall asleep again. "We have to find his family, and then we have to-"

"I have no family," the boy says, letting go of the piece of clothes in the process. "I am waiting for my Dad, but he has not come yet. And he will not come on a rainy day, so I just decided to take a walk from the playground we are going to meet at. But he will come, in time." The two look down on him, their eyes filled with empathy. Though the real story is very different, the story the two cops have heard was, that a family left their son with empty promises.

And now, they have found him, soaked, underweight and too naïve to be able to survive on the streets. What has made a family leave such a sweet and beautiful child behind, the men can only wonder. The kid is bright, too, able to speak with them without the childish distractions coming in to his sentences. And so, the cop holding him cannot help but want to find a new home for him. Unfortunately, the family he is supposed to have must be evaluated.

"Where did you live?" the cop asks, not wanting to put the boy down and seem to abandon the kid like they believed his family had done. He does not weight anything anyway, so it is not that hard to keep him in his arms. But the boy seems to wake up at the new question, and he smiles up at the man's face with such an angelic face that the man cannot help but feel his insides crumple. It aches his heart that the boy has no-one in his life.

And as the boy is about to answer, he shows signs the he wants down, and with one more small hug, 'James' follows his wish. Standing on the ground, the boy hugs himself, the wet clothes still making him cold when he does not have help to keep warm. "I lived in a forest far away. It snowed a lot in the winter. It was so beautiful, and there were so many animals to be with. The city is scary. I do not want to be here, but I wait for Dad."

"That is okay, Brooklyn," the other cop says. "Do you want to come in here? It is warmer, and we can find some food for you." The other cop gives 'James' a look, and the man disappears. When the boy look questioning after him, the other cop explains as he leads the boy in to another room: "He will find the food for you, and if I know him right, also new clothes. So, Brooklyn, what is your surname?"

The boy looks around the room. They are confused. The boy smiles at this. They think his name is Brooklyn. But he is going to play along. Brooklyn is not that bad. And he does not have a name anyway, so why not just take a new one? He had always loved to read about bridges, so it only fitted him.

But that also means he needed a surname. He has to be convincing, he knows that. Just beside him, inside the room, are a big world map, and his eyes trace over it. It is so long since he has last seen such a thing, and he is now standing just in front of Mexico, and his eyes goes to the right. Cuba... It seems he has totally forgotten what the question is, until his eyes fall a little, and he sees the name of a capital. Kingston. That is a surname, is it not? He does not even look what island he takes the name from, just let his eyes fall a little further down the map. "What is your surname?"

The cop is getting impatient, and Brooklyn looks back to him, smiling a little smugly at the thought of lying to the man. But since he has no name, he might as well just take whatever he wants. "Kingston. I am Brooklyn Kingston," the boy tells him, tasting his new name with interest. He repeats it in a whisper, his foggy eyes half-closed and a lazy smile on his face. He actually... likes it. It might even be better than Espen.

The cop he has not yet named sits by a computer and types the name in, but then frowns. "Well, there are about twenty people with this name, along with a middle name, but all of them are female." The boy just shrugs. He still likes his new name. Girls-name or not, it is still beautiful. "You are not in our system... But you said it was very snowy where you lived, right? Might be at the Canadian border, on the other side, then..."

The boy shakes his head. "I did not live in Canada," he says, his voice certain. "I do not know where I lived..." He is lying, and he knows it. But he will not let them take him back to Norway, so he has to make their investigation cut short. Else, they might realize he is the boy that disappeared from the Scandinavian country. "I think it is a year since I saw it last time... It is long ago. But it was not in Canada. I think... I think they were very... closed... people. Maybe they never registered my birth?"

The cop looks at the boy for a bit. "You think that is possible?" he asks, and the boy simply nods. "And you are very sure of this?" The only reason that he does not want to investigate further is, that he believes that this boy deserves so much better. So when he receives an even more stubborn nod, he takes it as an act of irritation that the man asked twice instead of what it truly is. Uneasiness concealed by stubbornness to get the man convinced of the lies.

'James' comes back, and the boy smiles again. The smell of the food is enough to, and he takes it and begins to eat it so fast that he does not note that the clothes they are going to force him to change in to, is not all white. "Thanks," he says as the plate of food is given to him, and he eats without complaining and with more tact than they expect him to.

While he does this, the two men begin to discuss next step. They have to do something for this kid.

* * *

Once again, the boy is left to sit on the swings alone. The days are confusing. So many new people. So many new buildings. And the rainy days. This is the first day without rain. He has told all the official people that he has to be at the playground. They all looked at him with pity, having heard the story of him waiting for his Dad. He does not like that look. But he is on the playground anyway. They have let him go there. But they still watch over him.

He sits alone as always, unsatisfied with the new clothes. Blue and red clothes. He wants his white. Boris has given him those. These are not the same, and these are not white. He does not know why he prefers the white clothes. He does not even think of it as weird. He has always worn white. His mother always gave him all white sets of shirts and pants. But these weird people give him a red blouse with a pair of small, blue jeans.

His eyes seek the other kids out. Once again, he wants to be with them, even if they are not nice to him and even if he actually likes to be alone. They look like they have a lot of fun, blading. He has not felt fun for a long time, even if he beyblades every once in a while. That is not fun, like it is not fun to run around playing tag and whatever else they do. But at least, they are together. He has never been together with others like that. Wonders what it feels like?

Something blocks his view, and he suddenly stares into two shining, green eyes. No, they are not shining; they are glowing, like neon lights on the cold streets of the big city. And they are just as cold as neon as they meet the aqua orbs of the child, who stares in utter disbelief. Now...? Is it now? With wide eyes, the small child stands up from the swings and lifts his hand towards the black creature. He knows who it is. It is his dream. What he has waited for.

The bitbeast is so big it looks far down on him, and his lifted hands does not even get to a quarter of its height. He should be frightened, scared to dead by the mere sight of this creature, but it never even crossed his mind. The feline face stared down upon him with slightly narrowed eyes, sniffing in the air as the boy comes closer, wanting to feel his Dad's fur just underneath his fingertips. Feel that he really was there. The boy just wanted to feel him, unable to believe this sight. That the day he has lived for, that he has waited for so long, has come.

He does not see how the other kids stare at him, frightened by the creature made of nightmares that stands out in the open. Then, when they see how the freaky boy slowly walks over to the monster, they turn around screaming, doing what it should be natural for a human. This is the first physical form of their theory of his inhumanity, and they definitely will never forget this experience. Sadly, they will never see the boy again, either.

Just before the boy touches the demonic bitbeast, it disappears right before his eyes. Looking around confusedly, the boy search for his Dad, for the one he has waited for. The one he has wasted about two of his years on waiting for. But there is no trace, no marks, nothing to even tell that it had been there. _Look in your pocket_.

The voice came from his head, and he looks down to where his beyblade is. Slowly, as if afraid of getting hurt for doing it, the boy takes the unbalanced beyblade he uses for battle and looks at it. The bitchip... it is no longer blank like the rest of the kids'. "I... I was afraid you had left me for a moment," he confesses, letting a finger caress the surface of the bitchip, as if it makes him able to feel his Dad's presence. In his ears, he hears a sigh.

_Of course not, Brooklyn_. Brooklyn smiles one of his lazy smiles, looking to the bird in one of the trees. It is too long since he has talked with the birds. He takes out the arm again, and one of the small creatures comes out and sits down on his hand. He only wishes he has bread, so that he can feed his friends. He hears people come closer to him, and he is just about to turn his attention away from the bird and scare it away. _Be calm. They are not your enemies_.

"That's good," Brooklyn say, smiling lazily as he let his hand feel the small bird's feathers. It chirps at him, and he sends a mix of a chirp and an animal-like cry back. The bird watches him with the head tilted, then turns its attention to the people behind him and flies away, afraid to come too close to the men. It is the two policemen, who look at him with confusion. They do not understand the other kids' reaction to Brooklyn's weird behavior.

"What happened, Brooklyn?" the man Brooklyn formerly had called James asked. His true name is Corby, and though the boy knows this, he usually called him James. That is no longer necessary, and Brooklyn does not even understand why he called the man by a different name before. Corby's partner, Fredrick, seems just as confused, and just as Brooklyn is about to make himself look mentally unstable, his Dad comes to the rescue.

_They cannot see me. They do not believe in bitbeasts, so I am not visible for their eyes_. When the bitbeast feels its cup is about to speak out loud, it interrupts again. _When you speak to me, please do not talk to me out loud_. Brooklyn nods and looks at the two cops. For the first time in his life, his eyes are clear and seem to be alert of everything happening around him, and as if he sees the world for the first time, his eyes swallows everything around him.

Still, he hides this from the two policemen, who both look at him with concern. "I do not know what the other kids reacted like that for. But..." He then makes his voice tremble, as though he is close to tears. In truth, he is absolutely satisfied with the world at the moment. "Th-they never have liked me. No kids do. I was a lone child. I do not want to be a place where there are a lot of kids; they will just hate me like these does." Tears even well up in his eyes as he speak, making it look realistic. And though the feelings are not true, his words are. And in his mind, he asks:

'Does that mean you are a bitbeast? Are you what Boris spoke about?'

Corby has gotten a soft spot in his heart for the boy gives him a hug. "We will find you a new family. Just you wait. It will be a loving family, where they can help you coming past these experiences. I will do whatever I can to make sure your life becomes good. We just have to get past the court." For the first time, the boy hugs him back, and as they go for the damned police car, Brooklyn stares scared at the vehicle. He can feel that he is going to shiver the whole way.

Then the soothing power of a loving father comes over him, and he feels how his Dad hugs him with his mind as he goes in to the ugly piece of metal. _Yes, I am what you call a bitbeast. A sacred spirit, of the sort many claims is evil for my need to get a... different relationship with the humans I interact with. I am so strong that normal humans cannot bear having me with them_. Seemingly staring out the window, Brooklyn let his mind drift off to the conversation.

'Do you know where my mom is, then?'

He hears a small smile in the voice. Or he may just feel it on his body, from the new powers he feels coming in to his body. No matter what, he knows the creature is smiling at him. _I do not know where she is, but I promise you, if we ever come so close to her that I feel her powers, I will lead you to her_. Brooklyn smiles at this. He really wants to meet the one he will consider as his mother. But the voice in his head is not done. _Oh, poor boy, what a mess your mind are. So much darkness hides behind that beauty you have gotten_.

'What do you mean?'

_I mean that I will lock a part of your mind away, if you do not mind it. This is too unstable. Of course, I will ask you first. I promise you, it will not take away your visions, only make them more... organized. But since they are as chaotic as it can get, I do not know how well the result will end up_.

'You can do whatever you want with me, Dad,' Brooklyn answers, and hears the soft, yet thundering laughter from inside his head. It makes him smile, and though he is terrified to be inside the car, he cannot help but close his eyes and fall asleep to that fantastic sound. For even though his mind has gotten to the point where he acts and talks like a corrupt teenager, he is still only a nine years old boy who has just gotten his mind open to the world around him.

* * *

Just found out that Lailachan's tribute to Brooklyn on YouTube, the one this story was created from has been disabled for some weird reason. I am terribly sorry about that.

Anyway, I have nothing more to say that enjoy in joy ^^


End file.
